The first time my ex-husband visited, he said it was like stepping into his grandmother’s house. I was thrilled. That was the highest compliment he had ever given me. I had achieved what I was after. I had turned my home into a replica of one from the early 1900s.

I leafed through a stack of coupons that were so old, they included 25 cents off on a typewriter ribbon and 50 cents off on Purina cat chow. The last time I owned a cat, I was wearing a mini-skirt and go-go boots.

Many of us are repulsed by vulgarities in movies and television shows. However, we recall the shock of old folks when Rhett famously said to Scarlett, “I don’t give a damn,” while we impudently were spewing “fudge,” “flippin’,” and “darn” in our young cursing vocabularies. “Crap” was a biggie!

For a guy who spends the entire film in his jammies in a wheelchair, James Stewart has one of the most interesting roles of his career, in part due to his reactions displaying his changing attitudes towards his neighbors.

I never understood why it was so important to our gym teacher for us to learn how to do headstands anyway. I mean, if humans were meant to stand on their heads, they would have been born with wide, flat skulls (and in my case, a less heavy bottom)

The mules couldn’t pull as much as a tractor, and the steam engine could not pull as big a train as its diesel competitor. Both were considered ugly relics and an impediment to production and progress; it was time for them to go the way of the dinosaur.

The film is a tender almanac: Seasons are used to move the story and reflect the mood. It rains when Colbert returns from bringing her husband to the railroad station when he reports for army duty. She comforts herself in an empty house with her photo album of their family history.

This last bug had me digging out albums from The Ink Spots, Frank Sinatra and Ella Fitzgerald and watching the likes of “Gone With the Wind” and “The Philadelphia Story” for the umpteenth time. Such is my pleasure that I always regret waiting until the plague descends on our household before I drag out my classics.

My incipient alcoholism stopped after I graduated from college, in part because life was no longer frat-centric. In addition. drinking had failed me. I had strived for Joe College aspirations, but ended up more Joe Schmo.